


Request 15.75 (Ryland/MC)

by Yoselin



Series: L&L Tumblr Prompts [18]
Category: Love & Legends (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 16:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15271857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoselin/pseuds/Yoselin
Summary: Name used is Hope.Originally posted to Tumblr.“Nothing is wrong with you.” / “Hold me and never let me go.” / “Don’t be afraid.”





	Request 15.75 (Ryland/MC)

With no sun, it is difficult to tell how long we travel. The woods past Magnus’ lands are vast and there’s no true indication as to where they end. Ryland has us on a schedule of pausing every so often to rest before pressing on.   
Eventually, after an unknown amount of time has passed, we end up in a wooded area full of trees and undergrowth. It looks no different from the miles we have already trekked through, yet Ryland raises his hand and indicates me to stop. I do so, narrowly avoiding a collision with his back, and watch as he paces across a cluster of trees.   
He tilts his head to the side, traces his fingers across the branches, and digs the toe of his boot across the soil. I watch his display utterly puzzled and say nothing.   
Finally, satisfied with whatever inspection he has conducted, Ryland straightens his back and offers me a radiant smile. His hand taps against an area between two trees and a low sound emits. My breath hitches in my throat.   
It’s a magical barrier.   
“Magic,” I breathe out. My own hand comes to rest next to his, our fingertips slightly brushing. I can feel a tension against my palms and magic hums underneath my skin. The barrier is solidly built and easy to miss. Were I not with Ryland, I would have breezed right past and ended up on the other side of the barrier without having have ever known how to get in.   
Ryland traces a pattern across the barrier and sigils come to life in bright golds and whites. I hear a click as the magic border begins to peel back. There’s almost the sound of peeling bark and falling metal as the enchantment holding the block together falls away.   
In moments, the air before us warps and bends and the last of the magic gives out. Where there was once trees and shrubs, an entire mini-village stares back at me. I can see people moving about in the distance and smoke curling out of firewood.   
Ryland takes my hand and leads me past the last of the barrier. Once we are through, I hear it snap back into place behind us. Were anyone following us, they’d be locked out.   
I survey the area around me, take in the guards and watch towers in the distance, and glance at Ryland. He nods in an answer to my silent question and tugs me gently forward.   
“Yes, this is it. Welcome to the Resistance, Hope.”

When Magnus first let it slip that a Resistance was camping out in the woods and scheming against the Witch Queen, I had imagined a series of loosely built tents and rogue warriors grunting at each other. This, however, is not the case.   
The Resistance is more village than camp out. There are young children flittering past and large, homely tents in the distance. I take in everything around me in wonder.   
Sensing my amazement, Ryland lets out a chuckle. “Not what you expected? Yeah, we’re not all battle hungry warriors. The Resistance has many outposts through the realms that look just like this. This one is a fallaway shelter we built not long ago in an emergency.”  
“Fallaway?” I ask.   
“A shelter that can fall away at any moment, one ready to evacuate in a minute, if you will. This one is nothing compared to the permanent settlements,” he answers back.   
I let that piece of information sink in. The fact that this village full of life and joy is nothing but something scrapped together at the last minute is mind boggling.   
I open my mouth to ask a million more questions-but the sound of shouting interrupts me. We turn to see a man dressed in armor and coming at us.   
I press behind Ryland in fear but he seems unconcerned. He puts a protective arm around me and nods at the man approaching. I watch as he smiles and raises his hand in greeting.   
“Caligo! It’s nice to see you again.”  
The man, Caligo, picks up his pace and hurries towards Ryland. He stops in front of him and claps his hands on Ryland’s shoulder in greeting. A smile works his way across his handsome features.   
“Captain Goldhart! I knew the Witch Queen was no match for you,” he tilts his head down in greeting.   
Ryland releases me and steps forward. He claps Caligo’s shoulder.   
“I told you, you would see me again. I keep my promises.”  
Caligo opens his mouth to speak when he spots me. He takes me in slowly and a flirtatious grin spreads across his face.   
“Well hello, beautiful, who might you be?”  
I flush in embarrassment and struggle to think of a response. To use the name Hope is still a little too new. Ryland, thus far, is the only one who uses it and it feels awkward to use it for an introduction. I bite my tongue and try to come up with a reply.   
Finally, Ryland comes to my rescue. He retakes my side and places a gentle hand on the small of my back. His touch is comforting and I release some of the tension in my shoulders.   
“This is the girl Magnus kidnapped. I managed to rescue her in my time at the caste,” Ryland explains.   
I wait for Caligo to react with shock or disgust at who I am-a Renegade with connections to the Generals-but he just nods in understanding. The flirtatious smile falls from his face and is replaced by a kinder and gentler one. He turns back to me, his one eye softer, and extends his hand.   
“Welcome, Miss. I’ve heard a lot about you and I want you to know that you are safe here,” he greets.   
“Thank you,” I manage out. I take his hand in mine and shake it awkwardly.   
If Caligo finds my stiff handshake odd, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he gently pats my hand in comfort before turning his attention back to Ryland.   
“The Resistance has awaited your return eagerly. There is much to learn from your mission. Are you alone?”   
I feel Ryland tense behind me, something akin to sorrow and grief on his face for a millisecond, before he breathes out a quiet sigh only I can hear.   
I remember his men and the carnage we had left behind. My own heart aches.   
“I am alone,” Ryland answers. His hand on my back suddenly shakes before he steadies it again.   
Caligo’s lips thin, catching on to Ryland’s answer, but he nods in understanding. He straightens his back, like a soldier reverting back to his calm facade, and spins on his heel.   
“I see. We will have to brief the Council on the mission then. I am glad you are safe, Captain Goldhart.”  
Caligo takes off and beckons for Ryland to follow. I catch his arm before he can.   
“Where are we going?” I wonder.   
Ryland offers me a gentle smile and softly nudges me forward. “The Main Tent. I’ll brief the leadership there and see if we can arrange something for you.”  
As he says it, I begin to feel the exhaustion of the journey settling in. A life as Lady Vestergaard had not exactly prepared me for a long trek. My throat suddenly feels like it is on fire and my legs ache.   
“Alright,” I nod.   
Without anymore resistance, I follow Ryland and Caligo out. 

 

People part ways when we walk through the Resistance’s encampment. They greet Ryland with friendly smiles and worship him.   
It surprises me. No one asides from the Generals could speak or greet the Witch Queen, and Magnus was particular about rank structure and approaching him, so to see the average cook or soldier greet Ryland like an old friend is a pleasant surprise.   
Ryland, with his ever famous people skills, greets every member in turn by name and sticks around to speak with them for a few moments. This makes our walk to the Main Tent much longer than it has to be.   
When we finally arrive to what Ryland tells me is the Main Tent, I let out a sigh of relief. I am tired from the long journey and want some time to reflect on everything that has happened since the failed execution.   
“Is this it?” I press my hand to my side where an ache is beginning from the long walk.   
The Main Tent looks like any other tent from the outside, but there’s an energy about it which radiates importance and authority. I can hear the murmurs of people inside and see a weak lamplight drifting past it’s flaps. A meeting of some sort is underway.   
Ryland nods in reply. “This is the Main Tent. It’s where the Resistance’s leadership gathers to plot and talk. There is a meeting now?”  
He directs the last bit at Caligo. Caligo crosses his arms behind his back and nods.   
“The Council has been meeting for the past hour discussing your rescue. They await your briefing. I will tell them you are back,” he answers. He offers us a last friendly smile before ducking inside the tent.   
I move to follow, certain that Ryland will too, but Ryland stops me. He looks apologetic as he does so and coughs awkwardly.   
“Meetings are confidential, Hope. Only the Council, Caligo, and I can enter the Main Tent. I will find someone to take you to get some rest. Wait here,” Ryland explains.   
The thought of being alone is not a good one, but I have no choice in the matter. I reel in my emotions and clench my hands against the fabric of my dress. Once I nod my consent, Ryland enters the Main Tent and leaves me outside.   
I wait for maybe a moment or so before someone is exiting the tent. It is a young woman clothed in the Witch Queen’s blues. She spots me and a warm smile spreads across her face in greeting.   
“Lady Hope,” she extends her hand, “Nice to meet you. Ryland asked for me to find you a place to rest. My name is Solaire.”  
“Nice to meet you,” I murmur back feeling more than a little embarrassed. I shake her hand, a better handshake than the one I gave Caligo, and flush.   
Solaire’s expression is utterly warm and friendly as she extends a hand for me to take. “Let’s find you something to eat, yes?”  
I open my mouth to decline, something about navigating the encampment without Ryland feels uncomfortable, but bite my tongue. Hunger gnaws at me and Solaire’s presence feels comforting. I can’t expect to be at Ryland’s side at all times, so I might as well get used to meeting new people.   
“Yes, please,” I whisper.   
Solaire hums, satisfied, and leads me away from the Main Tent. 

Solaire sets down a plate of something warm and spicy before me before hurrying about the makeshift kitchen. I swirl the spoon around and take small sips of the stew. It is much better tasting than the bland food Magnus’ cooks served up and it warms my tired body.   
I manage to finish half of it before setting the spoon down. Years of not eating with Magnus has made my appetite dangerously small. I can’t bring myself to finish the plate.   
Solaire, to her credit, says nothing about my wasting of food. Instead, she takes the plate from me before I can make it to the wash bin.   
“Do you want me to make you some tea? You look a little pale, my lady,” she remarks gently.   
I hang back awkwardly and rub at my arms.   
A tea would be nice but I can’t bring myself to ask for one. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone more than I have to. The Resistance feels too foreign to me.   
“When will the meeting be over?” I change the topic and bite my lip.   
Solaire glances at me before reaching for a tea bag anyway. Perhaps she saw my true feelings.   
“Council meetings usually run late, unfortunately. Ryland and Captain Hawkeye will probably be there all night. Ryland has to debrief on the mission and prepare for the next one. We won’t see them until midnight or so,” she shrugs.   
“Captain Hawkeye?” The name stays with me as she talks. I remember hearing Magnus murmur it once or twice while reading documents from the other Generals.   
“He’s the second captain of the Resistance. Ryland walked in with him to the meeting. Eyepatch fairy that flirts with everything that moves,” she closes one eye and presses a hand to it to demonstrate an eyepatch.   
“Caligo,” I recall, “he’s also a captain then? I thought Ryland is the only leader.”  
“No, there are two. Ryland handles the troops and Caligo the spies. They work together and share responsibilities. The Council meets with them both to discuss strategy,” Solaire swirls the tea leaves around the boiling water.   
The scent of warm jasmine reaches me and I close my eyes. I haven’t had good tea in a long time.   
“Oh,” I reply.   
I take a moment to process through the large amount of data I just learned and sort things out mentally. I need a moment to gather my bearings.   
As Solaire finishes up the tea, I close my eyes and tighten my fists in my lap.   
I do not remember my name but have taken the alias of Hope. I am no longer Lady Vestergaard and have left my ivory tower. I am at the Resistance’s encampment. Ryland leads the Resistance with a man named Caligo Hawkeye. Solaire is one of them and is helping me. I am free.   
I repeat the words in my head until they begin to sink in. Once my thoughts are a little clearer, I open my eyes.   
Solaire watches me, worry on her face, and sets the cup of Jasmine before me.   
“Are you alright, my lady?”   
I wrap my fingers around the cup, the warmth spreading through my hands, and nod slowly.   
“I am fine,” I answer.   
It’s only half a lie. My heart is pounding from the fear of being away from Magnus, my hand is aching as the effect of the magic I had used to calm the pain of severing my finger begins to wash away, and my body aches from stress. Nevertheless, there is a feeling of utterly clarity as I sit there.   
I am free. I no longer have to worry about Magnus or anything else.   
I am free.   
My hand begins to shake and I set the teacup down before it can rattle in my hand. This does not go unnoticed by Solaire. She stands suddenly and glances at the darkened sky.   
There is no sun, the Witch Queen took it long ago, yet we can both tell how late it is if only due to the weariness in our bones. My journey has made me sleepy and I want nothing more than to rest somewhere. My hand, the one wrapped tightly in bandages, aches as the last of the magic I’ve been using to dull the pain washes away. I am too exhausted to keep it from hurting.   
Solaire presses a finger to her chin in thought and narrows her eyes at something in the distance. From the makeshift kitchens, we can see the tents in the distance. People are turning in to sleep while Resistance members pace their patrols.   
“Many of our members have no capacity in their tents, unfortunately. The only people with room to spare are the two captains and me. I can let you sleep in my tent, if you want? Unless you would rather stay with Ryland?” She turns to me.   
I feel awkward and shake my head in response. No. Solaire shrugs and offers me another light smile.   
“My tent it is then.”

Solaire’s tent is a short distance from the Main Tent. Candlelight still spills from the meeting room and hushed voices can be heard. As Solaire said, it seems that the Council has not yet dismissed for the night.   
Solaire draws the flap of her tent open to reveal a small space. There is a bed to one side and a chest to another. The place is snug and can barely fit two people. I linger at the entrance feeling like I am imposing.   
“Are you sure?” I ask again. Solaire has no reason to house me for the night and I feel like an intruder in her tiny space.   
A tsk at the back of her throat is my response. Solaire sets out her bedding and puts her hands at her waist. “I offered, my lady. There is plenty of room for the two of us and I will not be here often if it makes you uncomfortable. The Council has not finished the meeting and I need to be in attendance. Just lay down and rest. You’ve had a difficult journey,” she nods at her bedding.   
I enter tentatively and let her draw me towards the bed. It is more sleeping roll than bed yet I’ve slept in worse. Solaire hands me a blanket and dusts her hands off. She lights a candle as a light source then disappears off to the Main Tent.   
I watch her leave then close my eyes and take a deep breath.   
I am free. I am free. I am free.   
I repeat the mantra in my head as a bedtime story. The words turn in my mind but have no meaning. I have been a prisoner for so long that I no longer know what that word means. 

I drift awake not an hour afterwords. The candle Solaire has lit has barely begun to melt and the tent is still empty. Despite the fact that my body is exhausted from a tiring journey, I find my mind is too restless to sleep.   
I sit up for a while and stare at my hand. Ryland had wrapped it in makeshift bandages and Solaire had replaced them. The wound aches duly as my magic keeps it at bay. It is tiring to have to ward the pain away, but I manage.   
At some point, my restlessness draws me to stand. I leave Solaire’s tent hoping that I can find my way back to it later on, and accepting the fact that I will not be able to, and walk along the tiny dirt road that leads from tent to tent. The tents here look larger than the others, which does not mean they are actually big enough for two as Solaire claims, and they look like they belong to important people. Judging from the distance of the Main Tent, I’d reckon they are the Council members tents.   
I pace the road until the Main Tent comes into view. Light is still pouring from it except the voices have turned to soft murmurs. I hang back as shadows dance across the candlelight.   
Whatever meeting is inside is now drawing to a close. I can hear Caligo’s voice dismissing the meeting and hear the scrape of chairs as council members rise. Soon, the tent draws open and people pour out.   
They are faces I do not recognize. They look exhausted and bitter as they leave. Whatever they had been discussing for the last few hours was not pleasant.   
A knot forms in my stomach. Caligo had said that they wanted a briefing on Ryland’s mission. How many of the council members had lost loved ones to that mission?   
Eventually Solaire, Caligo, and Ryland emerge. The tree look exhausted and Caligo’s earlier smile is gone. His face is pinched in distaste and his fists are clenched. Ryland looks no better. There’s color to his cheeks with displeasure and he looks like he has been arguing with someone.   
I hang back as the three separate. They exchange words with each other, each one displeased, before going their own ways. Caligo turns to one end, Solaire goes the opposite way of her tent, and Ryland heads towards my direction.   
I emerge in his path and he jolts. He blinks tiredly before his mind makes the connection. Immediately, he straightens and hurries towards me.   
“Hope! I thought Solaire said you had gone to sleep?” He puts a hand at my back.   
“I can’t sleep,” I admit and cross my arms, “my mind is too awake.”  
Ryland makes a face like he echoes the sentiment. His expression is drawn and he still has some leftover exasperation. Whatever was discussed in that meeting, he is still reeling from it.   
“Is everything alright?” I ask. Ryland begins to guide us down the path leading to the tents.   
Ryland pinches the bridge of his nose. “Council meetings after missions are never pleasant. I had a lot to account for. I had to debrief on the intel I gathered...and debrief on the executions.”  
The executions of his men. I draw in a breath.   
Ryland was not meant to escape alone. The Resistance had intended to rescue all of them together, yet they had arrived late. As the lone survivor and the leader of the Resistance, there are many that will cast blame on him.   
I wince. “What did they say?”  
“They made me write statements to the families of the men and they’re holding another meeting tomorrow for the public. Caligo will commend the fallen and there will be some speeches. It’s a funeral of sorts. I want no part in it and I made that clear. I have been to too many of them already and I don’t want to see more,” Ryland explains.   
I follow him further into the road leading to the tents. By the looks of his exhaustion, he wants nothing more than to sleep. I almost want to let him rest then but curiosity and worry still burn my stomach.   
“What else?” I wonder.   
Ryland’s tired mind works back to the meeting. There is something else in his gaze, some other part he is hiding from me, but he shuts down before I can try and guess what it is. He shakes his head and gives me a weary look.   
“Council meetings are confidential, Hope,” he reminds me.   
It isn’t a scolding. He isn’t telling me to stop asking him classified intel, he’s begging me to. Whatever else was discussed, he either wants to forget about it or he wants to keep me in the dark about it.   
I have no right to ask him for that information, I realize. I am not a Resistance member and am merely imposing on his hospitality. I swallow down my next line of questioning and let silence reign. The only sound between us is of our breaths and our footsteps.   
Finally we reach Solaire’s tent. Ryland extends a hand to beckon me inside but I stay put. I still am not tired.   
“Not sleepy?” Ryland inquires. He looks like he might pass out at any moment from exhaustion yet he fights it.   
“You should go to bed,” I murmur.   
He shakes his head and suppresses his yawn. “If you feel restless, I can walk around with you for a while. Pacing helps me think.”  
He extends his hand like a gentleman. I loop my arm around it even though I know I should probably let him sleep.   
We walk a different road which leads us to a small patch of forest. Fairy lights are strung on branches casting a lovely portrait around the area. The atmosphere is quiet here and only unbothered by the occasional rustle of a woodland animal scuttling about.   
“A lot of the children come and play here from time to time. It’s safe. I like coming here when everyone is asleep to think,” Ryland states.   
He gently lets go of my hand and takes off his coat. Tossing it to the ground, he motions for me to sit on it. Giving him a quizzical stare, I do. The gesture is almost romantic.   
Ryland sits opposite of me, unbothered by the dirt, and leans against the base of the tree. The fairy lights cast shadows across his face giving him an almost surreal glow. If I were an artist, I could paint a lovely portrait of him then. With his back to the white oak tree, his blue eyes lit up by the lights, and his face casted in handsome shadows. I memorize the image in my head.   
He extends his hand towards me, palm up, and I take it. His palms are rough and calloused from wars and servitude.   
“What is it that keeps you up at night?” His voice is soft, unprying, and I know it is entirely my choice to speak.   
I bite my lip and shake my head. I really don’t know. I am exhausted and sore, yet my mind refuses to rest.   
“I can’t sleep,” I shrug.   
Ryland turns my hand over and examines the way the fairy lights illuminate it. He makes movements with his fingers over my knuckles in an effort to soothe me and never drifts past my wrist. I did not give him permission to touch past my wrist when I gave him my hand and he looks intent to honor that.   
“Nightmares?” He asks. He turns his soft gaze towards mine.   
“No,” I answer. I know nightmares well, they haunt me every night and give me headaches, but that’s not it.   
“Worry?” Ryland suggests. He seems more tired by the minute and I again feel sympathy for not letting him rest.   
“No,” I shake my head.   
He rubs a pattern into my hand. “Then what is it?”   
I take my time staring at the lights burrowed in tree branches and sigh. Sleep evades me and I feel a restless energy in my mind that refuses to leave. A part of me doesn’t know how to rest.   
“I don’t know how,” I answer.   
“How?” Ryland quirks his head waiting for me to elaborate.   
I sigh. “I don’t know what to do. It’s peaceful here and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”   
I think my words make no sense and I grind my teeth together.   
“I guess there’s something wrong with me, right?”   
“ **Nothing is wrong with you,** Hope.” Ryland gently hugs me closer and takes my hand in between both of his. He rubs his palms around it as a way to warm my hand. “I know what you mean.”  
“I don’t know what I mean,” I mumble. My eyes suddenly burn but I refuse to cry. I have bothered Ryland too much already and will not make a nuisance out of myself any further.   
Ryland sighs and gazes up at the permanent night sky. There are no stars tonight, blocked by the Witch Queen’s magic, so it is nothing but an endless patch of black nothingness. Somehow that makes eternal night worse.   
“When The Resistance began, I felt the same way. There was peace for us here in our encampment yet I didn’t know what to do with it. I had been so used to carnage and battles that a peaceful night’s rest was foreign. I spent much of my time tossing and turning and pacing. Caligo almost tied me to a tree just so that I would let him sleep. I just could not comprehend silence. It’s loud, isn’t it? The roar of silence is deafening when you are accustomed to screams.” He closes his eyes, trapped in a bitter memory.   
I stare at my hand linked in his. “Screams?”  
“I did not fight in the first war. I was a servant for Lord Wolfson and stayed in the camps while he and his men fought. At the time, the most terrifying thing was the sound of men dying around me. I did not fight in the first half of the second war. I was a servant who had never picked up a sword before. Combat was unknown and I was weaker then. I hid in Lord Wolfson’s shadow and cowered at the sound of battle. It wasn’t until his death that I was thrust into war. I did not know how to fight yet I fought. I finally understood why milord had been so terrified of war. The death is terrible but the screams are worse. They haunt you and torment you. You grow accustomed to the moans of the injured and the rattles of the dying. The war drew out for so long that it became a lullaby for me. When it was over and I had carved out my Resistance, I could not take the quiet.”  
I let his words sink in, shiver with the thought of so much death, and glare at a tree in order to fight off the tears.   
“The palace was loud at night. Soldiers paced the hallways, the guards outside our door shifted in place, Magnus snored...I guess I just can’t comprehend the quiet. It feels out of place, fragile, temporary-“  
“Ephemeral,” Ryland nods, “I know what you mean.”   
Silence lapses between us and Ryland shifts his posture. He looks very tired then yet he blinks away sleep. He is intent on staying with me until I feel like I no longer need him.   
I sympathize with him and take a breath.   
“What should I do then?”  
I don’t mean tonight, I don’t mean for sleep.   
What should I do with this quiet? What should I do with this peace? What should I do with this freedom?   
I’ve spent so long in fear that I miss its chokehold. I cannot rest without it.   
Ryland turns my hand over and traces a pattern on my palm. He stares at my hand intently and his gaze turns soft.   
“Live.”

Morning has no light to offer; the sun is a memory trapped in a history book. The only indication that a new day has passed is the hubbub outside of the Resistance coming to life. Lights ignite as lanterns and fairy lights are lit and people’s voices can be heard.   
I awake slowly, taking my time to move, and see that Solaire has long since left. She had arrived an hour after I had returned to her tent and left much earlier before I had awoken.   
There is a set of clothes to one side of where I rest, faded brown and red clothes, and Solaire has left a note offering me the attire.   
It is a loose fitting tunic and pants that look like they belonged to someone else. After dressing in finery for so long, the concept of used clothing is new-but not unwelcome. I am more than happy to rip off the green dress I wore and swap it for the new clothes. Being in something that did not follow me from that palace provides me with comfort.   
I emerge from the tent in time to see Resistance members begin about their days. A young child breezes past with his sibling, a dwarves guard goes on patrol, and a line gathers outside the makeshift kitchens. Breakfast.   
I stretch and linger uncertain as to where to go. Thankfully, Ryland comes to my rescue.   
He is dressed in clean, red clothing and looks refreshed after a long night of sleep. While there is still something troubling in his gaze, some remnants of the unpleasant meeting from before still clouding his mind, he looks ready to start the day.   
“Morning,” he greets. He motions for me to follow him to the makeshift kitchens.   
I cross my arms awkwardly and bite my lip. “What will happen today?”   
Ryland glances at me from the corner of his eye, sighs, and nods at a passing guard who greets him.   
Last night he had mentioned something about a public meeting. I can already see activity in the distance and hear people murmuring about an event later on in the day.   
“Caligo is in charge of it. The Resistance doesn’t have time to mourn all the dead because we are too busy planning. As soon as one mission ends, another begins. For that reason, we hold a single event for all the fallen in between missions. Caligo says a few words, the council says a few words, and the families carry an offering to the altar. They tend to be old clothing or cloth or whatever the family can spare. It’s burned in a pyre in memory of the fallen and the Resistance holds a moment of silence. Then it’s over and we continue on with our lives. It’s harsh but war doesn’t give time for mourning.”  
I take my time digesting the information and feel another chill up my spine. In the past, mourning lasted days. Families would wear dark colors and be visited by neighbors. It was a very somber affair and gave enough time for people to cope.   
This funeral practice seems like a cruel mockery of old mourning routines. Yet, Ryland is right, it is war and war is not kind. The Resistance have no time to mourn in between deaths.   
“Will you say a few words?”   
We reach the breakfast pavilion. Ryland takes his time answering my question as he hands me a bowl of steaming broth. Broth is the wrong word. The contents of it are little more than boiled water. The Resistance is tight on food and rations what it has. I suddenly feel guilty when I recall all the food Magnus had let go to waste at the palace. He had ate like a king while the others had starved.   
“I attend the ceremony because I have to but I don’t give speeches anymore. At some point, it feels hypocritical.”  
Hypocritical. I wince. Ryland survived while his men died. They were meant to escape with him.   
By the looks of his face and the pained light in his eyes, I can tell it haunts him. Survivor’s guilt weighs on his shoulders and he doesn’t quite know how to face a crowd of mourners.   
I pity him.   
“Then what will you do?” I bite my cheek.   
“Strategy planning. Like I said, as soon as one mission ends, another begins,” Ryland turns away from me.  
I hesitate when he begins to walk away. An emotional wall has fallen between us and I get the feeling he has things he has to work out alone. I decide to give him space.   
The demons he has to fight, the grief he has to overcome, and the guilt he has to shoulder, is for him to defeat. I cannot help him asides from lending him an ear.   
Grinding my teeth, I pour the broth back in the basin untouched and go to find Solaire. 

After some aimless wandering, I find Caligo instead. He walks from place to place talking with Resistance members in sympathetic tones. Like Ryland, he takes his role as a leader seriously and knows his people by name.   
When he sees me, he beckons me forward with a smile. Confidence and cheeriness radiate off him and some of my own troubles evaporate.   
“Hope! Good morning,” Caligo places a hand to his chest and bows his head.   
“Morning,” I reply. I give him an awkward smile in return yet he seems unbothered. I get the feeling that Caligo is someone used to cheering others up.   
He turns his head towards a stage like platform away from us. Some people are lighting a flame on a raised platform. I recall what Ryland had said about the funeral practice and suddenly feel a little less comfortable.   
“When is it?” I nod my head at the crackling flames.   
Caligo’s expression clouds a little. “Ryland told you? It’ll be in the afternoon. We have one every few days. Are you coming?”  
Am I coming? I’m not sure. I say as much and Caligo clasps his hands behind his back.   
“Everyone is welcome. We all have someone to remember, yeah? Don’t be afraid to drop by. We’ve all lost someone.”  
A brief flash of my brother and father register in my mind and I wince. I can almost remember their blood on my skin. I suddenly am in need of a bath.   
“I don’t know any of the men to mourn them,” I say after a brief pause. Their executions are fresh on my mind, but I’ve seen hundreds. To mourn someone I feel responsible for killing seems blasphemous somehow.   
While I lived a high life at the palace dressed in finery and not eating out of choice, those men had foiled away here and starved and died for a cause greater than all of us. To even stand in the area they had once stood feels nauseating somehow.   
Caligo gives me a sympathetic look almost as if he can read my mind.   
“Suffering isn’t a competition, Hope. We’ve all loved and lost. Come to the ceremony to remember those that are gone. This isn’t a funeral, it is a ceremony. We remember instead of mourn.”  
He places a hand on my shoulder gently then takes his leave. I watch him ascend the stage and tend to the flame. His own magic makes the fire grow bigger.   
I bite my cheek then turn away. 

I find Ryland after a brief bath. With the dirt and grime scrubbed off my body, I feel like less of an outsider in my skin.   
Ryland sits on the base of a tree and writes things down on a piece of parchment. A crossbow rests at his feet and he reaches for it when he hears my footsteps. Once he realizes that it is me, he relaxes.   
“Hope,” he greets. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I catch a glimpse of the letter on his knees.   
“Are you alright?” I ask.   
Ryland picks up the letter and turns it over. It looks like official correspondence although I cannot read it. While the handwriting is legible, the language is foreign.  
“Fine. Caligo’s spy network from Magnus’ domain made contact. The Reinforcements that saved me were executed. Some made it out and are headed to other fallaways, others died in battle. The Witch Queen is furious and her Generals have begun a manhunt.”  
I blanch and wrap my arms around myself. Ryland stands and tears the letter into tiny pieces.   
“Will the magic hold?”   
I remember the barrier across the Resistance. Ryland had been able to strip it without magic of his own, so what could Magnus or his men do to it? Could they also find it?  
A hand is placed on my shoulder and Ryland’s gaze is sympathetic.   
“ **Don’t be afraid**. The barrier will hold against anyone but General Klein and the Witch Queen herself. Magnus could ram right into it and not notice it. If he finds our encampment, which is unlikely, he’ll walk into it then appear at the other side without knowing. We’re safe,” he soothed.   
Safe. That and freedom are foreign concepts.   
I relax although a part of me still feels uneasy and watch as Ryland gathers the crossbow. The wood looks old and beaten. Caligo had an expensive sword strapped to his belt, yet Ryland’s weapon looks like it had seen better days.   
I give him a questioning look.   
Ryland glances at his crossbow and traces a finger around the handle. There’s a worn crest on it that almost looks familiar.   
“It was Lord Wolfson’s,” he answers my unasked question, “he gave it to me when he died. It’s a memory.”  
I nod and recall his Lord. While I had never met Lord Wolfson, I had heard of him. People had said he was a great leader and the hope of the world.   
Ryland strings the crossbow on his back and nods at me. He does not look like he cares to elaborate on the subject. Like before, there is a pain to him that runs deep. I dare not pry.   
We walk back into the encampment in silence. I do not know what to say to him now, although I burn with thousands of questions, and Ryland seems content with the quiet.   
Finally, we reach the center of the camp again. A crowd has gathered before the stage and Caligo is saying something. From far away, I can’t make out his words.   
Ryland winces.   
“I lost track of time. The ceremony started early,” he guided me towards the crowd.   
“Is that them?” I nod at the line of people on stage.   
Women and men line shoulder to shoulder with somber expressions. They hold garments in their hands and toss them one by one into the flames. I watch as the fire devours their offering. Smoke rises and a hush falls across the crowd.   
Ryland tenses next to me and he closes his eyes. His head bows and the muscles in his cheek jumps.   
I watch the fire ignite stronger as more offerings are tossed in. Ash follows in their wake and some of it drifts up into the dark sky. Someone has tossed in a white piece of cloth which looks like burning snow as its ash rises.   
For some reason, that makes something inside me ache.   
No one cries at this ceremony. The widows and children of the fallen look somber, yet none of them weep. I recall what Caligo had said earlier. The Resistance does not mourn, rather, they remember.   
The moment of silence ends and Caligo closes with some remarks. Ryland jolts out of his trance and spins around. I follow his quick strides away.   
“Are you alright?” I ask again. My hand catches his arm.   
Ryland slows down to match my pace and clenches his jaw.   
“I don’t like the ceremony. It was my idea to host it in the first place, but I passed it on to Caligo years ago. I hate it.”  
I let him take my bandaged hand in his. He is careful not to press down on it where the wound still gives dull aches every now and then.   
“Why?” I ask softly.   
Ryland glances back where the crowd is dispersing. Caligo lingers with the families to talk. He takes his time to address each person by name and offers words of comfort.   
Ryland’s jaw clenches and he turns away as if the image is too painful to stomach.   
“I gave so many speeches back then. I hosted that ceremony for years and talked to every person that was on that stage. In the end, I ran out of things to say.”

Ryland’s mood lifts as we get further from the ceremony. He leads me to the makeshift kitchen where Solaire and a few others flit about preparing dinner. Although I haven’t eaten all day, I don’t feel very hungry. Years of suppressing my appetite have made it difficult to feel it.   
Ryland lets go of my hand gently and clasps his hands behind his back. He stops to address each person and ask if they need assistance. He reminds me of a Lord running his household.   
“Do we have enough supplies for dinner? We can send scouts for more if we’re running low,” Ryland murmurs to Solaire. Solaire greets me with a soft smile before answering Ryland’s question.   
“Enough for the week. Caligo already organized a supply run for next week. We’ll be fine until then,” she replies. She turns away from him and to me.   
Whatever she sees on me, her lips draw tight.   
“Are you hungry, Hope?” She reaches for a basket off to one side.   
“No,” I shake my head.   
A frown paints her features and she thrusts the basket at me. It is full of fruits and berries. She waves it expectantly.   
“You don’t eat much. Why?” She gives me a warning look.   
I deliberately ignore her question and stare down at the fruit. Catching sight of a strawberry, I fish it out and wave the rest of the basket away.   
She refuses to budge and holds it out for me expectantly. When Ryland reaches for something, she draws it back in a rush.   
“Not you,” she hisses.   
Ryland makes a sound of protest and reaches for it again. “Why?”  
Solaire takes a cloth from behind her and picks an assortment of berries for me. She hands it over to me and nearly shocks me with her magic when I refuse to take it. A warning spark comes close to my hand and I relent.   
“You may be the Captain of the Resistance but you’re still banned from the kitchens. You and Caligo are nothing but trouble. Caligo flirts with the staff and you nitpick,” Solaire retorts.   
“I used to run the kitchens for Reiner. You worked under me,” Ryland fights back.   
Their argument is entertaining and I smile despite myself. Solaire turns to argue, catches sight of my face, and a tension leaves her body. She looks relieved to see my smile and her own lips turn up.   
Ryland turns as well and smiles softly. A strange quiet falls in between them.   
I feel uncomfortable and glance between them.   
“What?” I press the strawberry to my lips in an attempt to hide my face.   
Ryland snaps out of it first. He glances away and manages to snag a berry from the basket and pop it in his mouth before Solaire Can stop him.   
“You have a beautiful smile,” he answers.   
I color at the thought of being called beautiful and awkwardly bite into the strawberry. Solaire waves her fingers and a broom hits Ryland’s legs. She scolds him for stealing from her and he retorts something about being her Captain.   
I watch it with mild interest then fish another strawberry from the bundle Solaire gave me. This does not go unnoticed.   
“Do you like strawberries, Hope?” Solaire inquires. She moves the basket out of reach from Ryland and sparks magic at her fingertips to warn him off.   
I turn the strawberry over in my hands and watch as the candlelight reflects off it.   
“We never had any in the castle. Magnus was allergic to them,” I reply.   
Ryland and Solaire go quiet. A thought passes between them then and I read it on their faces.   
They pity me, I realize. Ryland had said that I was a story he often told his men in order to inspire revolution, and I can see just how deep it went. I am a tragedy come to life.   
For some reason, that bothers me. I set the second strawberry down uneaten and excuse myself. My stomach twists in knots.   
I don’t want to be pitied. Not by the Resistance. 

Ryland catches up to me after a few moments and falls into step beside me. He says nothing about earlier and opts to change the subject.   
“Do you want to go on a walk?” He inclines his head towards the same grove of trees we had been in last night.   
I don’t.   
“I just want to sit down somewhere,” I answer back. I feel uncomfortable and want to be alone.   
Ryland must read it in my body language because he stops. Understanding fills him and he nods his head at me before shuffling his feet awkwardly.   
“I go to the edge of the encampment when I need to think. The trail leads there if you follow it. No one goes there but the occasional guard on patrol so you won’t be bothered. Do you want to talk?”   
It’s my choice whether to say yes or no. Ryland doesn’t pry and leaves it entirely up to me.   
I am grateful for it but I turn him down.   
“I’m fine,” I reply.   
I am not fine. He knows it and I know it, but he will honor my wish. He nods at the trail I am to follow and turns to walk away.   
I make it a few steps before he spins back around.   
“Do you like music?” He blurts out.   
“Music?” I raise an eyebrow.   
Ryland comes back up to me and nods at the empty camp center. The ceremony flame has been put out and no one is around.   
“We don’t just have funerals there, you know. There’s going to be a little music event there. We host one every day after the funeral ceremony. It’s our way of resisting. Maybe you would enjoy it,” he explains.   
Music. Another foreign concept. At this point I can admit I’ve forgotten everything about my past life.   
I bite my lip. Do I like music? I haven’t done it in so long...  
“When?” I ask.   
“Tomorrow evening.”  
“Maybe,” I reply. I turn around and continue my trek. This time, Ryland lets me go. 

My thoughts are a whirlwind of emotions. I refuse to let myself cry and press my hands to my eyelids.   
I am free, but what is freedom? Is freedom the absence of oppression or is it its own state entirely?  
I’ve been a prisoner for so long that I can no longer remember what it is like to not be in chains. A part of me still lingers in that castle. A part of me still wears that cursed ring and exists as a ghost.   
Another part of me is buried with my brother. Hidden underneath earth and rock, decaying with the passing time. I am alive yet I’ve never felt so dead before.   
I bury my head in my hands and take deep breaths.   
I do not remember my name but Ryland calls me Hope. I am no longer trapped in the castle with Magnus but perhaps I’ve trapped myself in a new cell. I am free but I have no idea what to do with that freedom. I am in the Resistance but exist as a spectator to a cause I feel outside of. I am alive yet I feel like a corpse.   
My existence is one big parallel that never aligns.   
I stand from my seat and pace the length of the trees. My hands wrap around myself as if in embrace and I take shallow breaths.   
The urge to cry is overwhelming yet what right do I have to mourn?  
The Resistance has toiled away and fought for the right to exist. These people have seen more death and despair than what I could ever imagine. They are skin and bone from a life of not eating and rationing our their supplies.   
To sit here and wallow in self pity feels like blasphemy.   
I was once a princess trapped in an ivory tower. Ryland had said it himself. My prison had been a castle where staff had obeyed me, meals had been served daily, and a warm bed had greeted me nightly. The worst I had ever had to endure was Magnus and I had learned to do that. I had learned to keep my mouth shut, learned to obey, and learned to retreat into a far corner of my mind when he touched me.   
Truly, I had not suffered as much as the Resistance. So what right did I have to be here? Why had I survived when those men had died?   
I grind my teeth in frustration and take shallow breaths.   
Caligo had said suffering was not a competition and he was right. Suffering was not a competition but a scale. And on that scale, I fell flat.   
Fighting back tears, I reeled in my emotions. It wasn’t hard, years with Magnus had taught me that, and I felt better. Now that my feelings were under lock and key, I felt like I could breathe.   
Taking a final breath, I steeled myself and returned to the encampment.   
I had no right to complain or cry, and I was determined to see it through. 

The next morning sees me and Solaire at the makeshift kitchen. Solaire has refused to let me leave until I finish all of my breakfast and all of my complaints have fallen on deaf ears.   
I swirl my spoon around the porridge and feign eating. My appetite is nonexistent.   
Solaire moves about the kitchen preparing a meal for the event tonight. Like Ryland had said, there was often a musical event the day after the funeral ceremony. It was apparently a lively affair and the Resistance was buzzed with energy.   
“What exactly is it?” I tilt my head in the direction of the center.   
Solaire’s lips quirk up in a smile and she passes me a tea. It’s warm scent envelops me and soothes me.   
“It’s the Live and Prosper Event. The Resistance has been hosting one since it was formed. Ryland and Caligo came up with it. We gather together and dance, drink, talk, and have fun.”  
I digest the information and continue to refuse to digest my food. My spoon swirls around the bowl.   
“Is it nice?” I ask.   
Solaire narrows her eyes at me and warns me to eat. I sigh and take a spoonful to humor her. Content, she continues about her chores.   
“I enjoy it and so does everyone else. It is nice to let loose every once and a while,” she replies.   
I watch as some porridge drips from my spoon and into the bowl.   
I can’t remember the last time I danced. Magnus hated music and the Generals never held balls. Life at the palace was always somber.   
Solaire slides into the seat opposite of me and urges me to keep eating. I make a face and manage another spoonful.   
“What is with your small appetite?” Her tone is gentle but her eyes are exasperated.   
I swallow down the spoonful although it feels like lead in my stomach.   
“Magnus believed a lady should not eat a lot. He was very insistent on training me to have perfect manners,” I murmur.   
A flash of a memory surfaces. A memory of being yelled at as Magnus had nit picked at my posture at the table and use of the proper fork envelops me. I push it back and my hand begins to shake. My appetite leaves me again.   
Solaire rests her chin on her hand and her gaze is sympathetic.   
“You grew afraid to eat, didn’t you? There is a part of you still afraid at being yelled at for eating ‘improperly’,” her tone is soft but there is an edge to it. I have a feeling she’s adding another tally against the Generals.   
I set the spoon down and slide the bowl away. This time, she doesn’t protest.   
“I don’t eat much,” I shrug.   
Solaire bits her lip and picks at her uniform. Unlike the reds the Resistance wears, her teals are of the Witch Queen.   
“Do you recognize me at all, Hope?” She leans forward.   
I give her a quizzical stare. “No.”  
Solaire sighs and leans back. She doesn’t look like she had expected me to say yes.   
“I am a spy for Caligo. I used to work in Lennox’s domain. There was once a dinner he hosted for the Generals and the Witch Queen. You came along with Magnus and were the only person not of their group. No other General but Magnus has a partner, so you were all alone. Magnus refused to let you sit at the same table. They had a smaller table at the far end of the room made for you. It was a child’s setting and made to humiliate you.”   
The memory surfaces and I wince.   
“I remember,” I reply.   
Solaire keeps going. “I was a staff member that day. I remember the harsh whispers the Generals said about you. They mocked you loud enough so you could hear. It was amusing to them to see how obedient Magnus’ little toy was. I saw you almost cry.”  
I bite down on my cheek hard and make no noise. Solaire puts her hand over mine. I realize my hands are shaking.   
“I remember thinking, ‘poor, poor girl’. You did not deserve any of it. It was a relief when Lennox called the dinner to a close. I wanted to approach you but Magnus had dragged you out,” she takes a deep breath, “I regretted not doing anything.”  
I allow her to hold my hand and force down the tears rising.   
“You must have thought I was weak. I didn’t fight back,” I close my eyes. The Resistance has fought for so long yet I took all of it. Perhaps I am a coward-  
“No,” Solaire’s voice is harsh, “I thought you were strong. You took all of it without flinching. I was in awe of you. They tried to humiliate you then, but they only humiliated themselves.”   
I blink away the tears and get ready to stand. Solaire stops me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.   
“Hope, you can talk to me if you want. I may not have been able to talk then, but I can now. You have a lot of grief on your shoulders. It is okay to cry-“  
“I have nothing to cry over. You and the resistance have suffered more than me.”  
Solaire’s lips thin.   
“That is ridiculous. No one’s suffering is any less than someone else’s,” she scans my face.   
I turn away and change the subject.   
“Is there another council meeting? Ryland and Caligo are nowhere to be found,” I cross my arms together.   
Solaire looks like she doesn’t want to change the subject, but she relents. She inclines her head and something passes through her gaze. I am reminded of Ryland on that first night. There was something he did not want me to know then about the meeting, and Solaire seems to agree with him.   
“Yes but it’ll be brief. No one will miss the Live and Prosper Event,” she answers.   
I scan her face for answers as to what she is hiding but turn up none. Frowning to myself, I turn around and leave. 

True to Solaire’s claim, the Council meeting wraps up early. Ryland and Caligo emerge together. Like before, they look bitter about something and talk in hushed tones. When they spot me, however, they suddenly stop. Caligo clamps his teeth down and color blooms across his face. For some reason, he looks worried that I have overheard something.   
A paranoid part of me wonders if maybe the meeting had something to do with me, but I push it down.   
Ryland greets me although his smile seems a little stressed. The meeting has really irritated him.   
“Are you ready for the Live and Prosper Event?” He nods at the center where people are beginning to mill about.   
“What is that event anyway?” I follow in step with Caligo and Ryland.   
“The Live and Prosper is another way we fight the Witch Queen. The Witch Queen wants us to die, yet we defy her through this. Instead of dying, we will Live and Prosper,” Caligo chirps up. He leans towards me with a flirtatious wink, “why don’t you save me a dance?”   
I flush and take a step back. “I am sure you have scores of people lining up for a dance with you. It is rude to cut in line.”  
Caligo snorts and Ryland cracks a smile. They open their mouth to say something when music begins to drift through.   
The sound is so beautiful that I have to stop. It has been a long time since I heard instruments playing. A lively fairy melody begins to play and the festival begins. I close my eyes and listen to the rhythm. The beat of the music sends a wave of emotion over me.   
I must have liked to dance before. My body seems to remember a melody without me thinking about it.   
I open my eyes when Ryland extends his hand. Caligo is slinking away mouthing ‘dance with her or I will’ and winking at him. He blushes.   
“Do you want to dance?” Ryland asks.   
I stare at his palm and feel another urge to dance. It is strong this time and a part of me really, really wants to lose myself in the music.   
I take his hand in mine and let him lead me to the center. People are dancing to the rhythm, an old fairy dance, and laughter rises up.   
A tension I hadn’t known I was holding snaps. I smile, the first time I’ve felt truly at peace, and match Ryland’s steps. His hand comes to my waist and doesn’t drift. He leans forward and sets a pace for the dance.   
He has an old way of moving. His steps are rehearsed and formal. If I hadn’t known he was a servant for a Lord before, I would have known now. Everything about him reads propriety.   
I lean into him, take in his scent of pine, and match his rhythm. My body somehow knows how to respond. I must have liked dancing, once upon a time.   
The music picks up in pace and Ryland spins me around. I laugh and the sound makes him smile. He turns me in his arms and his eyes are impossibly warm.   
“Live and Prosper, Hope,” he murmurs.   
I close my eyes, listen to the rhythm, and nod. The Witch Queen wants us dead, but we won’t give in. This is how we resist. As well as fighting, we don’t let her have our happiness.   
“Live and Prosper, Ryland.”  
I turn back towards him and the song begins to come to a close. When he dips me at the final step, I catch a whiff of something.   
Someone drifts past with a tray of alcohol in one hand and offers it to people-  
And just like that I freeze.   
The alcohol triggers something in me. I remember drinking it to escape Magnus every night. Drinking while he ate to hide behind q daze. To hide from my own body every night.  
I begin to shake and I tear away from Ryland. His eyes widen.   
“Hope?” He reaches out to me.   
I shake in place and take a deep breath. “I need to be excused.”  
I turn to run but he catches up to me. His eyes are worried and he looks frightened for me. He snags my arm in his and gives me a pleading look.   
“Come with me, talk to me,” he pleads.   
I am in no mood to be alone. I shake in place and nod slowly.   
Ryland takes a deep breath and guides me away from the event. Music is still playing but it no longer seems welcoming. He leads us back into the same wooded clearing we had been in the night before.   
After some walking, we are far enough away that the music sounds muffled. I move to sit and Ryland uses his coat as a blanket like before.  
I tuck my knees to my chest and shake. Horrible memories play through my head and I bury them down. Tears prick at the corners of my eye and I resist them.   
Ryland sits next to me and gently takes my hand.   
“What happened?” His voice is soft and worried.   
I pinch my nose to keep from crying. Slowly, I take a deep breath.   
“Wild flowers,” I murmur.   
He gives me a questioning look but waits for me to elaborate. I do so after another breath.   
“Whenever Magnus wanted me, I would retreat into a field of wildflowers. My mind was locked away from him and I was free. He could do whatever he wanted to my body, but my mind was untouchable,” I bite my lip.   
Ryland closes his eyes with realization. “Did I do something? I was holding you-“  
“No, no I don’t mind you holding me. It was the scent. I used to drink beforehand because alcohol helped me get to that field faster. You didn’t do anything,” I murmured.   
My hands continued to shake and I clenched them into fists. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”  
Ryland gives me a look.   
“You never have to apologize,” he states. He turns so that he is fully facing me but is careful to not touch me. “Do you want to talk about it? I can get Solaire if you would feel more comfortable.”  
I shake my head and bite down on my lip. My hands are still shaking and my eyes are burning.   
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.   
You don’t deserve to cry.   
I run my fingers through my hair. “I’m fine.”  
“We both know that is a lie,” Ryland murmurs. He stares at me before closing his eyes.   
“Do you need to cry, Hope? Crying helps.”   
I wince and force my tears down. “Why? There are others out there suffering more. They don’t cry.”  
I think about the Resistance family members refusing to cry over their lost loved ones, I think about the strength in the crowd as they mourned. None of them cried and they’ve lost so much more-  
“Crying is not a bad thing, Hope. There is no suffering requirement before a person is allowed to cry. Your grief is your own. You may not have the same experiences as someone else but that doesn’t mean your hardships are any less valid. Do you need to cry?” He repeats it again and stares into my eyes.   
I tremble.   
Caligo had said the same thing. Solaire had too. A part of me is starting to bend.   
Ryland continues. “You’ve been holding in too much. You can exhale now, Hope. Cry if you need to.”  
I open my mouth to deny it but something in me snaps. My quivering increases tenfold and a sob breaks through. I press my hand to my mouth to block it but something in me has shattered. The wall I had built to hide my pain cracks and comes crashing down.   
I cry harder than I’ve ever cried in my life and Ryland sits up. He looks like he wants to comfort me but has no idea how. His hands remain firmly at his sides, afraid to touch me and bring up another memory, and I shake my head.   
I fling myself at his arms and cry into his shirt. His hands come around my waist and he lets me rest my head on his neck. He murmurs soothing things under his breath and lets me cry.   
I’ve never cried this hard before but a part of me needed this. A part of me needed to cry and let it all out. Bottling things in was not working.   
I don’t know how long I cry for, long enough for the music to drift quieter and quieter, and finally catch my breath. Ryland holds me close still murmuring comforting things underneath his breath. He doesn’t rush me or tell me to stop. When he comforts me he is not trying to get me to stop crying, rather, he is telling me to let it all out.   
I quiver as the last of my tears dry. Ryland’s shirt is soaked in tears yet he says nothing. He wipes some of my tears with his thumb and waits for me to tell him I am better.   
I am better.   
I take a deep breath and straighten. My head pounds from my breakdown but a weight I hadn’t realized I had been carrying has lifted. I feel so much more refreshed.   
“Thank you,” I turn to him. My vision is still a little blurry from crying but I can make out the gentle way Ryland gazes at me.   
“You can always count on me,” he murmurs. He is still afraid to touch me and extends his hand. A question.   
I take it without hesitation and lean into him. His scent is comforting and his heartbeat soothes me. I almost fall asleep tucked into his side but catch myself. Not that Ryland would have minded that. He offers no complaint as I rest my head against his chest and strokes my hair instead. I have a feeling that if I told him to **hold me and never let me go,** he’d comply with no complaint.   
“Thank you,” I repeat. This time, it is not just about comforting me.   
Ryland finds the hidden meaning of my words and reaches for my hand. He raises it to his lips and presses a light kiss against the bandage. It doesn’t hurt anymore.   
He looks down at me, eyes soft with something warm and kind, and opens his mouth to say something. I lean forward towards him, something in me also melting.   
His eyes are so soft and his voice is almost timid. “Hope, I...”-  
A horrible noise reaches our ears.   
It comes from all around us and sends a shiver down my spine. I freeze and raw and utter fear fills me.   
“Captain Goldhart,” Magnus’ voice carries out from everywhere in the encampment, “You took my wife and you will return her to me!”


End file.
